


Something Innate

by samariumwriting



Series: Fire Emblem Trans Week [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Acceptance, Developing Relationship, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Soren, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting
Summary: Soren has never presented himself in a way that screams 'masculine' to others. Plenty of people don't like it - Ike, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind either way.
Relationships: Ike & Senerio | Soren, Ike/Senerio | Soren
Series: Fire Emblem Trans Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833433
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46
Collections: Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020!





	Something Innate

**Author's Note:**

> My fourth fic for FE Trans Week (@fetransweek on twitter)! This was written for the prompt 'comfortable' with a dash of everyone lives AU but honestly blink and you'll miss that element oops

Soren was...not having a good day. His teeth worried at the skin of his lips as he sat, shoulders tensed, next to Ike. Yet still, after what must have been an hour of sitting there, he couldn’t quite dispel the words of the children from the local town.

They rang in his ears even now, when he was safe and far away from any stone they could throw (they hadn’t reached that point, but Soren knew they must have been close. People always tended to be with him). The children had called him weak, girly. Said he was just a pretty little girl who shouldn’t be anywhere near a mercenary group.

Ike, needless to say, had not been pleased. He still wasn’t.

“It’s not fair!” Ike complained, his legs swinging back and forth to hit the trunk beneath them heavily. Each strike reverberated, and Soren tried not to curl further in on himself. Ike wasn’t angry at him. “You just haven’t grown yet.”

Soren let the nervousness coil within him for a moment and then let it out. “I won’t grow like you have,” he admitted, and Ike turned to look at him a little strangely, confusion evident on his face. “I’m...a bit more like Mist. I might grow up looking a bit girly.”

Ike’s mouth dropped open in what looked like understanding but surely couldn’t be. If he really understood, he wouldn’t react like that. “Okay,” he said. “I think I get it.”

Soren blinked at him. Surely he couldn’t. There must be something he’d missed, something about it all that he didn’t understand. But then again, ths was Ike, and Ike was special. Maybe he did get it; or maybe he didn’t need to.

* * *

They were out in a town when it happened. Soren normally didn’t go to places in public alongside Ike for exactly this reason (and the fact that Ike’s haggling skills were abysmal), but in a time of war they didn’t have much choice. It wasn’t safe to go out alone.

That said, Ike’s presence couldn’t stop something like this happening. “Oi, girly!” someone shouted from across the unevenly cobbled street. Soren didn’t even startle; the man had been looking at him suspiciously for several minutes by now. “You might want to stop being so pretty, or someone could get the wrong idea!”

Ike tensed next to him when the realisation of the words’ meaning hit him. He spun on his heel, going to shout back a reply, but Soren put a hand on his arm and tugged. “It’s not worth it,” he hissed. “Let’s just go back.”

Ike didn’t untense until they were all the way back to the camp and inside Ike’s tent. “What was all that about?” he asked, once there was definitely no one around to hear. Soren didn’t know if Ike understood how much he hated talking about these things, but he was certainly doing something that alleviated that crawling fear.

“I’m sorry for being a bother,” Soren said, trying not to let a note of vulnerability enter his tone. He didn’t need anyone knowing just how he felt about this. “We shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“You’re right, but for the wrong reasons,” Ike said firmly. Soren looked up at him, knowing a look of surprise must have formed on his face. “You  _ shouldn’t  _ have to deal with that. But that doesn’t mean you have to apologise, because it’s not your fault.”

“They direct those words at me due to things I can control,” Soren reminded him. “I wear my hair long, and I’m not a swordsman like you or, I don’t know, a lance wielder like Oscar. That’s why they say those things.”

Ike scoffed. “And that’s not your problem,” he said, “that’s theirs. You were just being yourself, and no one else has the right to judge you along those lines.  _ Or  _ along anything you can’t control.”

Soren wasn’t sure quite where the next words came from. Maybe it was the rush of something close to joy that came with Ike’s sentiment, but maybe it was also the realisation that not all the feelings he held within could stay locked inside. Not in the face of Ike’s sunny will. “I just don’t like showing that I’m a man through...all of that,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

Ike’s eyes fell to where Soren’s hands had stilled, indicating Ike’s arms. He chuckled, but there was still weight to his voice when he replied. “I don’t think it matters that you present yourself differently,” he said. “Shinon wears his hair long too, and I don’t  _ think  _ anyone’s ever called him up on it.”

“Did you really have to compare me to Shinon?” Soren asked, quirking his lips slightly just to let Ike know that yes, he spoke in jest. Ike returned the gesture. “He hates me.” Shinon hated everyone, but that wasn’t the point.

This time, Ike threw his head back in laughter. “Fair enough,” he said. And just like that, the conversation moved on and the feeling in Soren’s stomach - that twisting, horrible feeling of sickness that struck to his core - faded away. The words they shared would probably be forgotten by Ike in time, not holding much importance.

But Soren would remember. He could hold Ike’s acceptance close to his chest and relish in the knowledge that  _ someone  _ got it.

* * *

“So what are you going to do about it?” the woman demanded. She was dressed from head to foot in feathers and lace and jewels, her single garment probably worth more than the Greil Mercenaries could earn in a year. Maybe longer; Soren had never even attempted to budget for something so extravagant.

It made her words slide past with even more venom than probably intended. She stared up at Elincia, her eyes brimming with entitlement and a clear demand for an urgent response to what she saw as an affront to the nobility.

“I see no issue with the methods through which  _ Sir  _ Soren presents himself,” Elincia said. Soren was pretty sure he hadn’t been knighted, but he wasn’t going to object to the young Queen’s words. “I stand very firmly in favour of any visitor to my court expressing themselves in a manner that is most comfortable to them.”

Ike was tense next to him, but he didn’t say anything. Soren had noticed that more and more, of late; Ike holding his tongue in the presence of people who looked down on him. They’d have to talk about it later.

“Forgive my saying it plain, your Majesty, but such trivialities of  _ comfort _ pale in comparison to the needs of propriety within the court,” the woman said. The largest feather on her headdress bobbed frantically as she spoke.

“Then pardon my interjection,” Soren said, and the woman whirled round to look at him. It was almost as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Seeing as you are talking  _ about _ me, I feel I should take the opportunity to defend myself. You speak firmly and eloquently on propriety, but you misunderstand the nature of what constitutes a need.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. Soren snuck a glance at Elincia, who nodded to him. She was going to enjoy this almost as much as he was.

“Well, a need implies something universal and necessary,” Soren said, “but I could direct you merely to look out of the window, and you would see numerous examples of individuals not following what you define as a need. Beyond this very hall, there are many who would not recognise the significance of your clothing - beyond its price, of course - not to mention all those who would hold no comprehension of almost any ritual of this court.”

“And  _ you _ misunderstand my meaning,” the woman replied. Her face had gone decidedly red and was veering into purple from rage. “We are not on the streets of some dirty Daein city. We are in the Crimean royal court, and as such the rules of said court should be abided by.”

Now, Ike took the opportunity to speak up. After all, it wasn’t just Soren who was being objected to in this scenario - it was the way Soren ‘sullied’ the presence of the great war general. Even the thought of it left a sour taste in Soren’s mouth. “That’s your opinion,” Ike said firmly. Plain and straightforward, just as always. “You’re entitled to state it, but it doesn’t mean Soren has to dress differently.”

With Ike’s voice thrown in the mix and everyone in the room beyond the complainant in agreement, Elincia moved the issue on succinctly, with only a little in the way of objections from the woman. But, as with every day in the court, Soren ended the day utterly exhausted and knowing he was coming close to his limit.

“Maybe we should move on from Melior,” Ike said with a sigh. He’d collapsed into a chair almost the moment they’d entered their (shared, scandalously) quarters. “No one enjoys this, and I don’t like the way it looks for the future. It could be dangerous for you.”

Soren’s hands stilled on the clasp of his cape (which was, apparently, too long and too shabby, though he liked it just fine). “We don’t have to do that,” he said. “I don’t want to obstruct what’s best for the company, or what you want.” As long as they were here, there were no expenses. No need to search out jobs in a world of peace.

“I don’t think I can protect you from all the people who could hurt you here,” Ike said. His voice sounded heavy. “And that’s not even getting started on how people can use words to hurt.”

“I can protect myself,” Soren said firmly. He didn’t  _ want _ Ike to be stuck protecting him because of his weak body. He wanted this to be the best option for all of them, but if it couldn’t be the best for him then he’d let it be the best for everyone else.

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Ike said, “though I don’t think even you could look around every corner. Not with the number of corridors in this damned place.” He chuckled, but it didn’t carry any real levity. “I’d want to move on anyway. By the Goddess, I hate nobles.”

At that, Soren could only let out a slightly relieved laugh. “Maybe we should go back to being mercenaries, where my robes don’t offend everyone’s eyes for being a year old,” he said.

“I’d like that,” Ike replied. As he spoke, he rose from his chair and leaned close to Soren for a kiss. Soren couldn’t help but melt into it. Knowing Ike would prefer it too...maybe he could agree to something that stood to benefit him most.

Anything to get away from those damn uppity nobles, really.

* * *

Goldoa was a large place. Everything was built for a scale that seemed far beyond its inhabitants, and it made Soren feel even smaller. He supposed people did what they felt like when they could turn into dragons and fly their building materials to a roof.

He didn’t  _ quite  _ understand why they’d been invited to stay. The last he knew of it, the dragons stood on the side of order. They’d fought - and killed - many Goldoans in their quest to topple Ashera, and yet the many members of the Goldoan royal family smiled in a way that almost looked welcoming when he arrived, Ike in tow.

That was the other thing. They’d invited Soren and ‘one other he wanted to bring’. Soren knew enough to smell a rat. A large, winged, and scaly rat.

They were still all smiles when they held the welcome dinner for them both. Conversation flowed easily between the Goldoans at the table, and Ike joined in now and then, but Soren still felt stiff. Wrong. Like there were too many eyes on him.

“Soren,” Kurthnaga said, and Soren did his best not to grip his bowl too tightly. “Forgive me for saying so, but the way you dress reminds me a lot of the way many Goldoans dress. Is there a chance you once knew someone who knew our country?”

Soren tensed in his seat. “I don’t think so,” he said. He didn’t want to think about the implications of those words, that telltale gap in his family history just waiting to be filled. “Hasn’t the country been closed for hundreds of years? I’m barely twenty.”

“I see,” Kurthnaga replied, returning his gaze to his brother and dropping straight back into that conversation. From the look Almedha shot him, Soren gathered he’d said the wrong thing, but he almost couldn’t bring himself to care. As long as they dropped the whole subject into the pit where it belonged, he’d offend anyone he could get away with.

Ike was already under the blankets in their shared bedroom when he spoke up about it. “Was everything okay at dinner?” he asked.

Soren hummed, unbuttoning his robes (robes with a long skirt, just like the way many Goldoan men dressed - Ike was more out of place here). “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I thought you’d...like that dressing in the way you do is more normal in Goldoa. But you didn’t seem to like it when it was brought up.”

“I like it in theory, yes,” Soren said, sliding under the blankets next to him. In theory, this was perfect, and he couldn’t understand why he didn’t feel that way now he was confronted with the reality of it. “In practise, something about it sets me on edge.”

“I think that makes sense,” Ike said, though it didn’t make a scrap of sense to Soren. “You can feel however you like about it, it’s not like it hurts anyone. That said, their perspective is interesting - I suppose it’s nice to see the way that their presentation of gender isn’t so rigid, right?”

“It is,” Soren said. “I like it.” But there was still something that just couldn’t sit right with him.

* * *

“I’ve been looking for you,” Ike said, his voice breaking Soren’s silent stargazing. He’d been out in the gardens on his own for what must have been hours now, just watching. Thinking, and trying not to think, about everything he’d been told that afternoon.

Fathers, and mothers, and babies who were wanted but couldn’t be kept. Children who vanished into the night to years of unhappiness, potential starvation, and a cruel world that would never treat him as he deserved. Just for the way he appeared to them.

“I wanted to be alone for a while,” he said, knowing full well that Ike knew that. If he hadn’t, he would have found Soren over an hour ago.

Ike sat down next to him, placing a hand on the cold stone bench. Close to Soren’s, but not touching. Giving him the time and space to decide that one for himself. “It did come out of nowhere a bit.”

Soren honestly wasn’t particularly surprised by the reveal that he was Almedha’s son, but he was still...uneasy about the whole thing. He didn’t want to know like that (didn’t know if he wanted to know at  _ all _ ), and it all felt - they’d set him up when it came to that conversation about the way he presented himself.

There was an implication that there was something  _ natural _ or  _ inherent _ about his gender and the way he displayed it to others that linked him to this supposed home he’d never been able to enter. “They acted as if the way I dressed was because of them,” he said, barely disguising a sigh. “But if that held true, I’d have an affinity for Daein clothing, and I’m fairly certain I don’t.”

Ike wrinkled his nose. “Who would?”

Soren laughed a little, but he didn’t feel much better. “This was personal to me,” he said. “Important. I felt it deep down,  _ knew _ it within myself, and they want to say it’s just- something that someone decided for me, a long time ago.”

“It’s okay,” Ike said. “I understand, and I think...I think you’re perfectly fine as you are. The Goldoans don’t own the concept of ‘maybe clothes don’t really have a gender’. After all, if they did, why would Lehran dress like he did? Why would I accept your presentation without question if it felt unnatural to me?”

“I’d say you’re pretty different from most people anyway,” Soren pointed out. “In a good way.”

Ike flushed a little at the compliment. “I just want to do whatever makes you happy,” he said, his eyes falling on their hands - close, but still not touching.

“Whatever would make me happy is where you want to go from here,” Soren replied. “What do you want to do with…” my family, the people who abandoned me, the people who want me back. “Everything we learned tonight?”

“That’s your business, not mine,” Ike said firmly. “It’s not my family; you make the decision here.”

Soren opened his mouth to argue the point, but let out only a light chuckle. Ike looked at him questioningly. “We’re getting nowhere,” he said.

“Okay then,” Ike said, fixing Soren with a look. “Tell me what you want, and maybe then we’ll get somewhere.” The firmness of his expression and the sincerity in his voice told Soren everything he needed to know; Ike wanted to hear his thoughts.

He always did, so maybe this shouldn’t be a surprise, but it somehow was anyway.

“I...don’t want this to change anything,” he admitted. He could see the disappointment on Almedha’s face even now. “I think they’d like it if this did come to something- me staying, me visiting, I don’t know which. But I never asked for this, never wanted it.” He’d never really  _ wanted _ a family, just felt betrayed by the one he never had.

“Okay,” Ike said, that simple, easy smile forming on his face again. The one Soren never tired of seeing, even after all these years. “It doesn’t change a thing, then. Do you want to hear what I want?”

“Of course,” Soren replied.

“I want to get far away from here,” Ike said. His voice took a faraway tone, as if he was imagining something so much better than Tellius. It wasn’t hard, if you had even a shred of optimism, and Ike always had been optimistic. “Away from all the suffering that people- that  _ I’ve  _ caused.”

“I like the sound of that,” Soren answered. Ike reached for his hand on the bench, and this time Soren took it, letting the warmth of Ike’s larger hand engulf his own smaller, colder one. It felt good.

There was a whole world out there beyond Tellius. Out there, as nameless, faceless travellers with no family, no reputation, no known past...there would be no expectations tying them down. Just a vast expanse of cultures that may or may not care about the way Soren tied his hair or wore his robes.

It didn’t just sound good - it sounded like the future, just waiting to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd be super happy if you left a comment. I also often talk about my writing on my twitter @samariumwriting if you wanna check that out :)


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